Charles Bukowski What It Takes to Be a Writer

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· 68,769 ratings · 3,138 reviews

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Jun 14, 2007 Ryan McDonald rated it it was amazing

Misogyny, misogyny, misogyny....that's all everyone sees. Few see the true character of Hank, only the brutal sexual descriptions, the words beginning with "C" and his practice of "mounting" whatever drunken soul may have wandered into his piss-stained bed. This is one of the most American novels I have ever read. It tells the story of the common man, overburdened by the memories of his abusive youth, beleagured by his own unsightly appearance and wallowing in the depths of alcoholism. Few feel Misogyny, misogyny, misogyny....that's all everyone sees. Few see the true character of Hank, only the brutal sexual descriptions, the words beginning with "C" and his practice of "mounting" whatever drunken soul may have wandered into his piss-stained bed. This is one of the most American novels I have ever read. It tells the story of the common man, overburdened by the memories of his abusive youth, beleagured by his own unsightly appearance and wallowing in the depths of alcoholism. Few feel the groan of his body when he rises each morning, the dull thud in his brain, or the unrequited love in his heart. This is not a story of a crude womanizer. This is the story of pain and consistency, his life moving along with each labored step, unwillingly. It is the story of rejection, acceptance and our own inherent ability to survive without really trying.

They sounded like really nasty women anyway....

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Freaks always attract other freaks – it must be some immutable law of nature.

I had on my dead father's overcoat, which was too large. My pants were too long, the cuffs came down over the shoes and that was good because my stockings didn't match, and my shoes were down at the heels. I hated barbers so I cut my own hair when I couldn't get a woman to do it. I didn't like to shave and I didn't like long beards, so I scissored myself every two or three weeks. My eyesight was bad but I didn't like gl

Freaks always attract other freaks – it must be some immutable law of nature.

I had on my dead father's overcoat, which was too large. My pants were too long, the cuffs came down over the shoes and that was good because my stockings didn't match, and my shoes were down at the heels. I hated barbers so I cut my own hair when I couldn't get a woman to do it. I didn't like to shave and I didn't like long beards, so I scissored myself every two or three weeks. My eyesight was bad but I didn't like glasses so I didn't wear them except to read. I had my own teeth but not that many. My face and my nose were red from drinking and the light hurt my eyes so I squinted through tiny slits. I would have fit into any skid row anywhere.

Aloofness, drunkenness, seclusion: Hank Chinaski is a deliberate pariah, a lone wolf – misogynic and misanthropic…

I disliked them all immediately, sitting around acting clever and superior. They nullified each other. The worst thing for a writer is to know another writer, and worse than that, to know a number of other writers. Like flies on the same turd.

Women come and go, an ensemble of women is exotic and bizarre but all of them are thoroughly unhappy. Emptiness swallows existence and human comedy is hardly distinguishable from human tragedy…

I was glad I wasn't in love, that I wasn't happy with the world. I like being at odds with everything. People in love often become edgy, dangerous. They lose their sense of perspective. They lose their sense of humor. They become nervous, psychotic bores. They even become killers.

A curst cur must be tied short… ...more

Jul 04, 2008 Lydia rated it it was amazing

The leading crazy lady's name is Lydia. I can relate. Charles Bukowski has a way of betraying you and making you laugh in spite of yourself; disgusting you and then melting your heart with one tender and insightful paragraph you do not expect, at a moment that doesn't seem appropriate in context to that which he is speaking. It is impossible to love Bukowski and impossible not to love him. This book is just a delight, if you can absorb it. He is mushy soft at his core. The leading crazy lady's name is Lydia. I can relate. Charles Bukowski has a way of betraying you and making you laugh in spite of yourself; disgusting you and then melting your heart with one tender and insightful paragraph you do not expect, at a moment that doesn't seem appropriate in context to that which he is speaking. It is impossible to love Bukowski and impossible not to love him. This book is just a delight, if you can absorb it. He is mushy soft at his core. ...more

Jul 16, 2008 Ratscats rated it it was amazing

Recommends it for: Cher and Bette Midler

Recommended to Ratscats by: Sigfried and Roy

I discovered Charles Bukowski while in Las Vegas, in December 2000.
My dad thought it was a good idea to take his 19 year old daughter to Vegas. Because I LOVE watching everyone else gamble and drink while I can't participate!
To be fair, we saw some really good shows (Blue Man Group and Mystere). And the buffets were exciting (Paris was wonderful).
And ! I did get screamed at by a lady on the bus that goes up and down the strip. She looked like Mimi from the Drew Carey show. Well, she dropped her I discovered Charles Bukowski while in Las Vegas, in December 2000.
My dad thought it was a good idea to take his 19 year old daughter to Vegas. Because I LOVE watching everyone else gamble and drink while I can't participate!
To be fair, we saw some really good shows (Blue Man Group and Mystere). And the buffets were exciting (Paris was wonderful).
And ! I did get screamed at by a lady on the bus that goes up and down the strip. She looked like Mimi from the Drew Carey show. Well, she dropped her purse and I, being the gentleman that I am, went to pick it up for her because she was obviously too large to bend over herself. And I didnt want her roly poly, blue eyeshadow wearing self to roll down the aisle causing an accident.
(To be fair, she probably wouldnt have rolled, just gotten stuck.)
So this ass starts screaming at me "Don't touch my purse, don't steal my purse!"
So embarassing...

So later that day....
I bought a really sweet corset and some cute underoos at the Victorias Secret in Vegas.
At 19, I was at my most attractive. Everything has gone downhill since then. The ban on ephedra didn't help either. I swear, a few people die and they go and freakin' ban it. People die from cars and alcohol all the time but they dont go banning those. Whatever, man. (I miss you Xenedrine! Call me! **please email me if you have any black market ephedra, will pay in books**).
But the point is, I could wear a corset back then and look mildly attractive in the right lighting. If you squinted your eyes.
I do remember trying that get up on in my hotel room and thinking "Ooooh sexy lady, oh yeah. You soooo fine!"

That was also the last year I considered myself a female.

That was the first and last time I have ever shopped at Victoria's Secret. My friend , Erika, has to remind to me wear bras to this day.

(I also bought 2 pieces of cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory and brought them back to my hotel and devoured them both)

So back to the main subject matter here... our last day in Vegas, we were in some store and there was this book called "Drinking , Smoking and Screwing".
"Yes, yes and yes", I thought to myself.
Didn't even read the description, I just immediately bought it.
Lucky for me it was a collections of short stories from awesome writers about the title subjects.
And an exerpt of Charles Bukowski's "Women" was one of them.

He stood out to me because he writes like he speaks.
In plain, no frills english. Some call him misogynistic but I disagree. I never felt like he was exploiting or demeaning women (in any of his books).
Most of the bitches in his books deserved to be treated like shit. Or wanted to be treated like shit. Because that's how women are sometimes.
And that is why I no longer can relate to that gender amoung many other reasons.

I guess my connection with Buk lies in heartbreak.
That's what he reminds me of.
That bittersweet feeling of your heart being torn out but still continuing to beat.

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Jul 19, 2007 Colelea rated it did not like it

Recommends it for: hipster dudes with creepy mustaches

boooooorrrrrr-iinnnnnnnnnnnnngggg

I loved Bukowski as a young teenager and now that I go back and re-read I can only imagine that I enjoyed the truth and rawness at that age when I was getting lied to everywhere abt. the relations between men and women.

NOW the misogyny is effing boring. Like the crap I see every effing day. I find it interesting that some people find it so shocking because I know at least 10 men that feel this way abt. women. OVER IT. Don't wanna read abt. it now.

boooooorrrrrr-iinnnnnnnnnnnnngggg

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Women, Charles Bukowski

Women focuses on the many dissatisfaction's Chinaski faced with each new woman he encountered. One of the women featured in the book is a character named Lydia Vance; she is based on Bukowski's one-time girlfriend, the sculptress and sometime poet Linda King.

Another central female character in the book is named "Tanya" who is described as a 'tiny girl-child' and Chinaski's pen-pal.

تاریخ نخستین خوانش: روز چهارم ماه ژانویه سال 2010 میلادی

عنوان: زنان (زنها)؛ نویسنده: چارلز

Women, Charles Bukowski

Another central female character in the book is named "Tanya" who is described as a 'tiny girl-child' and Chinaski's pen-pal.

تاریخ نخستین خوانش: روز چهارم ماه ژانویه سال 2010 میلادی

عنوان: زنان (زنها)؛ نویسنده: چارلز بوکوفسکی؛

نقل نمونه ای از ترجمه متن: سال‌ها پیش در سی و پنج سالگی ازدواج کرده‌ بودم؛ ازدواج ما دو سال و نیم دوام آورد؛ همسرم از من جدا شد؛ تنها یکبار عاشق شده‌ ام؛ به‌ خاطر اعتیاد شدید به الکل مرد؛ موقع مرگش چهل و هشت ساله بود، و من سی و هشت سال سن داشتم؛ من دوازده سال از زنم جوانتر بودم؛ خیال می‌کنم او حالا خیلی وقت است که مرده، هرچند مطمئن نیستم؛ پس از طلاق، شش سال، در کریسمس‌‌ها، برایم نامه‌ ای بلند بالا می‌نوشت، و من هرگز جوابش را نمی‌دادم...؛ پایان نقل

تاریخ بهنگام رسانی 18/07/1399هجری خورشیدی؛ ا. شربیانی

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Sep 22, 2007 Demetri Broxton-Santiago rated it liked it

Recommends it for: Someone looking for something wild and very different

This book is CRAZY!!! I cannot believe I read the entire thing in 3 days. You can't put it down. In fact, it made it's rounds through at least 8 people I know of, and it's probably still making the rounds. Everyone had the same experience. You start it and Bukowski goes into the most sexist, vulgar, repulsive descriptions of the main character's relationship to women, but something makes you keep reading. I stopped at several points wondering, "why the hell am I reading this?", yet I went on. Th This book is CRAZY!!! I cannot believe I read the entire thing in 3 days. You can't put it down. In fact, it made it's rounds through at least 8 people I know of, and it's probably still making the rounds. Everyone had the same experience. You start it and Bukowski goes into the most sexist, vulgar, repulsive descriptions of the main character's relationship to women, but something makes you keep reading. I stopped at several points wondering, "why the hell am I reading this?", yet I went on. This is a wild feat, making this a brilliant work of art.
The main character is an upper middle-aged man. He's disgusting and a complete drunk. He's also a writer. His greatest ambition in life is the "f@*k" an 18 year old girl when he's 80 year's old. Did I say this was vulgar? It's the worst and best reading you've ever done. You'll fly through it, never knowing exactly why.... ...more

Reading "Women" is like watching a porno. At first, all that wanton sex is exciting and seductive and yeah, kind of funny too; then it starts to get repetitive and a little disturbing; pretty soon you're disgusted with all of it: sex and women and men and most of all, yourself. You promise that you'll never watch again but, deep down, you know you will. You dirty bastard. Reading "Women" is like watching a porno. At first, all that wanton sex is exciting and seductive and yeah, kind of funny too; then it starts to get repetitive and a little disturbing; pretty soon you're disgusted with all of it: sex and women and men and most of all, yourself. You promise that you'll never watch again but, deep down, you know you will. You dirty bastard. ...more

We are disappointed by the emptiness of this book, admittedly funny at times but too flawed in style. Still, we will find in Women little more to remember than the description of an old disgusting who takes advantage of his glory to type everything that moves. The narrative does not lack humour, but after 300 pages, we expect a little more.

In the words of a reviewer on Amazon, "First off, this book will offend people. It will probably offend you." This book hit a little too close to home (you could say I've met and loved this man in real life). At first, reading it was easy; the language is not complex and the material is the definition of "page-turner" - sex, love, drugs, alcohol - in raw, unapologetic realism. And then around page 200 it all became too much. Chinaski does another poetry reading, beds (and then rapes, though stra In the words of a reviewer on Amazon, "First off, this book will offend people. It will probably offend you." This book hit a little too close to home (you could say I've met and loved this man in real life). At first, reading it was easy; the language is not complex and the material is the definition of "page-turner" - sex, love, drugs, alcohol - in raw, unapologetic realism. And then around page 200 it all became too much. Chinaski does another poetry reading, beds (and then rapes, though strangely enough he does not call this what it is) a new woman half his age, breaks another woman's heart... and drinks, drinks, drinks. I decided to finish the book, because I was more than 2/3 along the way, and I'm glad I did. Chinaski has a breakthrough eventually, and it is heartbreaking, no matter how much you may have grown to despise him. Whether he'll learn or not, who's to say? But then again, that's life right there. And Bukowski's prose, if nothing else, tells it like it is whether you want to read it or not. ...more

Probably my least favorite Bukowski novel, if only because it is the one most commonly used against him by readers with a college freshmen understanding of what misogyny actually is. Anyone who's ever read the man's oeuvre or seen any of his interviews and walked away with the impression that he was anything but an equal-opportunity misanthrope might have a slightly skewed view of things. If anything, he was harder on the men around him, and he hated everyone for their greed, cruelty, and dullne Probably my least favorite Bukowski novel, if only because it is the one most commonly used against him by readers with a college freshmen understanding of what misogyny actually is. Anyone who's ever read the man's oeuvre or seen any of his interviews and walked away with the impression that he was anything but an equal-opportunity misanthrope might have a slightly skewed view of things. If anything, he was harder on the men around him, and he hated everyone for their greed, cruelty, and dullness, but he only fucked the women, so I guess that made him a misogynist... ...more

Aug 20, 2012 RandomAnthony rated it really liked it

I feel stupid getting into Charles Bukowski so much as a 43 year old guy with kids, a house, and a job. I mean, I read him in my late teens with all my friends and we romanticized his shitty SRO hotel existence. But over the last year I've either read or re-read all of his (non-poetry) books except Pulp, and I can see a depth and craft of which I wasn't aware as a kid. Women, turns out, is my favorite of the catalog.

I don't get much voyeuristic pleasure from Women. You know how recently-divorced

I don't get much voyeuristic pleasure from Women. You know how recently-divorced people say things like, "Ugh, I hate dating"? Well, Bukowski's twilight years, according to Women, function like The Bachelor except sometimes he can't get it up and just about all the women he meets are sad and bonkers. But the depth of his desires, his ambivalence, and self-loathing raise Women beyond, you know, "check out how many women I fucked" or whatever. He tries to go along with a few of his companions' everyday lifestyle (Bukowski antique shopping...I can't imagine) but feels trapped and suffocated. So he moves on to the next girl who's been sending him letters and dirty photographs. Literary success has its drawbacks but Bukowski's not dumb enough to pretend that nailing fans and waking at noon is harder than working a shit job. He's scared, amused, almost waiting for the other shoe to drop, if you will, like he's lost his young man's anger, wants to live in peace, but, Jesus, these women keep sending these letters, and...who wouldn't?

Women seems to me the most mature and quotable Bukowski. He's less caricature and more human than in his other works. He's more removed and reflective. Women is more than a laundry-list fuckfest. Go beyond the surface. Dig deep.

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Jun 13, 2014 Po Po rated it really liked it

I'll sum it up for you.

Drink, fuck, drink, horse race, drink, driiiiiiiink, write, drink, drink, watch a boxing match, give a reading, drink, fuck, drink, fuck, fuck, sleep, drink, write, drink, drink, fuck, drink, fuck, give a reading, drink, fuck, drink, fuuuuuuuck, drink, drink, fuck, fuck, drink, fuck.

These are the names of the ladies in his life: Lydia, Katherine, Joanna, Nicole, Debra, Tanya, Gertrude, Hilda, Iris, Mercedes, Liza,and Tammie. (There are others; I missed a few.)

There is some

I'll sum it up for you.

These are the names of the ladies in his life: Lydia, Katherine, Joanna, Nicole, Debra, Tanya, Gertrude, Hilda, Iris, Mercedes, Liza,and Tammie. (There are others; I missed a few.)

There is some remarkable insight hidden within these pages.

What I liked most is the crude honesty and the brutal humanity. Bukowski's passion is exhilarating.

* * *
"You're so full of shit!"

I laughed. "That's why I write."

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Jun 07, 2013 Tia rated it it was amazing

My God, this book is perfect. I finished it a day ago, so I've had time to digest it. It's gonna be hard to move onto my next book, my rebound read, because I'm still hung up on this one. I'm in love with it. I can't find a single flaw in it. This was my first Bukowski book, and I doubt his others will be able to live up to it for me. This would have to be one of my favorite books of all time, right up there with House of Leaves.

Basically this is autobiographical fiction about a brief period in

Basically this is autobiographical fiction about a brief period in Bukowski's life. He was divorced, he'd had his heart broken, and he was starting to get mild fame for his writing. He was actually a romantic deep down, he was looking for a true connection with a woman. He hadn't had his pick of women in his past, since he was not a good-looking man and he had an awful childhood. He was insecure around beautiful women. But suddenly he found himself having groupies, in his 50's. He was a broken man and he attracted broken women. His alcoholism meant he ended up with other drunks and addicts, or women who became frustrated with his drinking.

Strange as it may seem, I related to this book more than anything I've read before. That's why I like it. That's why I read. I'm always looking for books that can put my own feelings into words. I don't agree with people saying this book is full of "misogyny." I'm not even sure they know what that word means. I've yet to find a female author's work that resonated with me half as much.

If anything, this book showed how much he truly loved women, even when he was unlucky in love. He seemed to be a sucker for them. He was a bit intimidated by them, especially when sober. He couldn't believe it when beautiful or kind women had an interest in him. Yet, somehow he always found a way to mess it up. Some women he just didn't have feelings for, and their relationships were amicable. But whenever he fell hard for women, it didn't seem to work out. I don't think that's him being a jerk, that's just how life goes sometimes. He was always very honest with all of them. Brutally honest. He never cheated or led them on.

This book reminded me so much of a year in my life. I was 28. I'd been in three serious long-term relationships. Those were the only men I'd slept with, and all of them broke my heart. So I went a little wild. I drank a lot, and I slept around a lot. Some of the men I got attached to, but they did not want to date me. Other men fell for me, but I did not feel anything for them. I spent that year drinking and fucking and writing before meeting the man I would marry, and I don't regret it at all, but I'm glad it's over.

Bukowski's alter ego, Chinaski, is the perfect antihero. The kind of flawed protagonist I'm always searching for. He's a piece of shit, his life is a mess, but you'll root for him anyways. You'll want him to find the love he's looking for, and in the end he does. He meets a woman who won't sleep with him for a long time, so they develop a true friendship. She's a good woman, easy to talk to, not willing to put up with his crap. And he really likes her, and she likes him, and in the end he realizes what that's worth. She's based off a woman he married. So I think the book ended rather sweetly.

Also, Bukowski can really write. This book was a joy to read. I couldn't put it down! Here's my problem with memoirs - just because it happened, doesn't mean it's interesting. Bukowski knew the power of fiction. He knew exactly what to keep, what to leave out, and what to fabricate. So this story is very readable. There was nothing I'd change about it.

I loved what Chinaski said about The New Yorker featuring writers that are too educated, and about Hemingway being talented but not knowing how to have fun. Bukowski is like Hemingway in that his prose is sparse - maybe not "clean" since he's such a dirty old man, but it's minimal. That's what I admire about Hemingway. What I don't like about Hemingway is he was so serious and wrote about very dull things, so his talent was wasted. Women is not a dull book! I think even people who hate it will stick with it. They may be disgusted, but they'll still be entertained.

I was hooked within the first few pages. You don't have to wait for this one to "start." It was hilarious, too. Not since Augusten Burroughs have I laughed out loud so much. And this book was insightful. There were quotable lines or paragraphs in every single chapter. This is going to be one of those books that I read again and again. One of those books I wish I would've found 10 or 15 years ago. Finding this book was like finding my husband. It made me think, "Where have you been all my life" but then, also, "I probably wouldn't have been ready for you when I was young and too close to things." I'm in a place right now to appreciate this.

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"I never pump up my vulgarity. I wait for it to arrive on its own terms."—Chinaski/Bukowski, responding to a woman who has organized his poetry reading and is surprised to find him rather nice and "normal" in person.

I am in general a kind of fan of Bukowski, especially his poetry and early Henry Chinaski novels. He's brutally honest, nasty about pretentious people, and at the same time viciously self-deprecating. He worked for decades in factories, in the post office, in a variety of odd jobs he talks about in Factotum and Post Office and other books, so when it came to being part of the literary world, Bukowski just found it silly and self-important. He doesn't write about himself as anything other than what he is: Drunk, vulgar, rude and sometimes very funny. Women is a later novel about the older, early-fifties-aged Chinaski that quite obviously focuses on his usually disastrous (primarily sexual)relationships (you wouldn't call them romantic, really). And less funny than the earlier books, but no more insightful, really. He just tells it like it is and doesn't claim any particular wisdom about anything he does.

Early on, in the first Chinaski novel, Ham and Rye, we see Henry's drunkenness and madness in the light of the chaos of his family upbringing, his abusive father. In that book there's no sex and much humor. By now, in Women, Chinaski is a newly famous writer and shares altogether too much of his "experience" with women, having learned almost nothing about them along the way. All sex and ignorance, a parade of woman after woman for 291 pages. And this is his point, that he knows nothing about women! Which is sometimes funny, more often than not offensive, and ultimately a bit boring. I was listening to the book or I would have thrown it across the room several times. Sometimes it is funny, especially when he touches on writing and the writing life, or when he is describing this or that insanity. But I truly think he could have cut this book in half; it just goes on and on from "relationship" tragedy to tragedy. Chianski's drunk all the way through, 300 hangovers a year, as he admits.

"I'm just an alcoholic who became a writer so that I would be able to stay in bed until noon"

I was reminded of Robert Crumb's Trouble with Women, where Crumb shares some of the comics feminists have called misogynist. Like Crumb, Bukowski seems to have no ethical filters, no lines he is not willing to cross, and this makes him hilarious for many readers, and even, I am ashamed to say, me. He's an asshole, he admits this, but he's still doing the same thing at 50 that he was doing when he was 20, and this act is now a bit boring. He even knows this and keep writing,knowing his loyal fans (like me, damn it!) will keep writing.

He uses some excuses at this point to justify his behavior:

"I had imagined myself special because I had come out of the factories at the age of 50 and become a poet. Hot shit. So I pissed on everybody just like those bosses and managers had pissed on me when I was helpless. It came to the same thing. I was a drunken spoiled rotten fucker with a very minor minor fame."

So does he get credit here for brutal honesty or is it just more of the same reader abuse? Bukowski is more miserable here than in previous books:

"Human relationships didn't work anyhow. Only the first two weeks had any zing, then the participants lost their interest. Masks dropped away and real people began to appear: cranks, imbeciles, the demented, the vengeful, sadists, killers. Modern society had created its own kind and they feasted on each other. It was a duel to the death--in a cesspool."

Oh, it's a cesspool, all right, Buk's life, played for dark comedy, with Bukowksi/Chinaski the central comi-tragic figure, but too often at the expense of women, though several of them also mistreat him as he mistreats them.

So why didn't I love Women? I'll call some of it here blatant misogyny, even though he's as usual as hard on himself as any of the women he sleeps with. This is how he thinks he can get away with the abuse, but by now I am not quite buying it as interesting.

So why did I like Women at all? I guess because he does tell the truth, and writes that truth in a still interesting way in places:

"I liked to drink, I was lazy, I didn't have a god, politics, ideas, ideals. I was settled into nothingness; a kind of non-being, and I accepted it. It didn't make for an interesting person. I didn't want to be interesting, it was too hard. What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone. On the other hand, when I got drunk I screamed, went crazy, got all out of hand. One kind of behavior didn't fit the other. I didn't care."

Sexual Politics by the late Kate Millett nails Henry Miller and Norman Mailer for being essentially misogynist, disguising it in a kind of macho romanticism. Bukowksi is also misogynist here, almost exclusively describing women in sexual terms, woman after woman, drink after drink, horse race after horse race. Often repulsive. Occasionally amusingly decadent. A self-confessed fat, ugly drunk, who sometimes makes me smile. Not in this one so much as the others, though.

"You're so full of shit!"--Lydia

I laughed. "That's why I write."--Bukowski

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Review to be posted on blog: https://books-are-a-girls-best-friend...

In Women, Bukowski as Henry Chinaski details a life lived to excess. From sexualizing women, to excessive drinking and gambling. Pleasing himself is his only concern. Vulgar, rude and crude, Chinaski is his own man.

This book is repetitive beyond all get out and will get on your every nerve and yet you can't help but continue reading.

Afraid of his feelings, he runs from them and instead finds comfort in the arms of other women,

Review to be posted on blog: https://books-are-a-girls-best-friend...

This book is repetitive beyond all get out and will get on your every nerve and yet you can't help but continue reading.

Afraid of his feelings, he runs from them and instead finds comfort in the arms of other women, which I admit to finding both funny and sad.

Emotionally abused as a child, Bukowski never learned how to love or treat others respectfully. Drinking to excess and pushing all boundaries is how he deals with life and everyone in it. While he rejected social norms, I admit to questioning his reasons.

While living life to the fullest is what made him happy, the fact that his addiction was borne out of the abuse he suffered as a child, admittedly made me sad.

Learning more about the man who is supposed to be a prolific writer, is what has made me delve into these books. Unfortunately, the writing style in this one did not quite win me over. It was extremely choppy, repetitive and appeared to simply be a collection of Bukowski's conquests as detailed through the character of Henry Chinaski, which I could have done without.

I have one additional book on my list to read before I look into a few of his poems. We shall see.

Thank you to my local library for loaning me a copy of this book.

Published on Goodreads and Twitter.

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Jun 23, 2013 Adina rated it did not like it

Recommends it for: Nobody

I think it was more of a personal challenge to actually finish the book. I wanted to throw it away every time I opened it, but I always hoped that maybe, maybe there was a good part coming. Could have spent the money on a decent lunch instead of this.

The main character spends so much time describing the sexual encounters and his drunken stupor that you feel no remorse, no sentiment from him, no nothing. Just a child that sees a new toy and damn sure he's going to get it and play with it, then to

I could say I hated it because the women there were either emotionally dead or purely hysterical. I could say I hated it because the main character tried to "excuse" his pathetic life by blaming his parents, without actually making any change.

But the actual reason why I hate it is because it's basically written porn. And badly written. Could've saved myself some time opening a redtube tab.

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Some incredible one-liners and observations - Bukowski's blunt and candid writing never disappoints. However, this novel is incredibly and painfully repetitive which, though intentional, is a little tiresome. Not for the faint-hearted. Some incredible one-liners and observations - Bukowski's blunt and candid writing never disappoints. However, this novel is incredibly and painfully repetitive which, though intentional, is a little tiresome. Not for the faint-hearted. ...more

Mar 24, 2012 Arda rated it it was ok

It was love at first letter with Bukowski. This was months ago. I read the letter he wrote in '86, (posted at "Letters of Note" in 2012,) and I just knew. I had a thing for that letter, and wanted to devour the words of the man who wrote it.

I gulped down "Women" quickly because that was the type of book it was. Reading Bukowski requires the willingness to loosen up. It is not easy to read this stuff through an ideological, feminist, or moral lens. This man does not bother to brush up his character or polish his words. Whether we like it or not, we are forced to watch Chinaski throw up and throw his seeds in the fleshes of passing women. Chinaski is self-described as a "dirty old man", "selfish, with deep pleasure". He is a raging alcoholic, and, really, he is simply not bothered.

And so it goes. The more I read, the more Bukowski's appeal started to fade before my eyes. This possibly correlates with his own life-experience and through his sharing of this reality: "Human relationships didn't work anyhow. Only the first two weeks had any zing, then the participants lost their interest. Masks dropped away and real people began to appear: cranks, imbeciles, the demented, the vengeful, sadists, killers. Modern society had created its own kind and they feasted on each other. It was a duel to the death--in a cesspool."

The buried sense of uneasiness on how easy it is to break up, let go and be with someone else adds to the depth of this book, and the book does have depth. Perhaps the easiest way to describe it would be through referencing Milan Kundera's book title: "The Unbearable Lightness of Being". While reading Bukowski's "Women", I started to wonder about the meaning-of-it-all, but had to quickly stop myself from this questioning, and keep on reading. It means nothing. In the words of a friend of mine, "life means nothing and everything, but mostly nothing." Bukowski emphasizes on the nothingness. He is 'not wholesome in the sense of wholesome is as wholesome does': "I liked to drink, I was lazy, I didn't have a god, politics, ideas, ideals. I was settled into nothingness; a kind of non-being, and I accepted it. It didn't make for an interesting person. I didn't want to be interesting, it was too hard. What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone. On the other hand, when I got drunk I screamed, went crazy, got all out of hand. One kind of behavior didn't fit the other. I didn't care."

For the most part, this book was not rich in context. I wanted to love it, but dare I say: I was underwhelmed. I had this recurring notion that Bukowski was just trying so hard to look as though he was not trying so hard. It seems as though he wanted to give the impression that he couldn't care less about other writers, films, TV, culture, none of it really, and that he wasn't bothered by what people thought about his writing. On the other hand, there are all these self-compliments his characters chip in that disprove his indifference. The constant referrals he makes about himself being "one of the best writers", and that he has "raw writing", "humor", impeccable ease in jumping from one girl to another and "fucking all these women" all start to become less and less amusing.

This book, albeit playful, could be helpful for a case-study on polygamy. It is also acute in conveying the harsh economic realities that the Americans of that generation had been going through. Additionally, it could assist women of all generations to understand the true composition of jerks, assholes and dirty old men, and know when to run for their lives if they are in a relationship with one.

Was I disappointed with this book? Unfortunately, yes. Would I read more Bukowski? The man is shameless and unbothered by it, but he sticks to his guns and has his own style. Give me another book by him, right now, and yes, yes I will.

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Jan 22, 2013 Henry Martin rated it really liked it

Women is definitely not Bukowski at his finest, nevertheless, the book has its merits. In this book, we get a slightly different glimpse at Henry Chinaski, Bukowski's alter ego, and once we get past the same scenery in which the only thing that changes are the sets of legs spread before him, we are offered a look into a life of a man who is nearing his top game (in term of recognition) while being torn inside. Torn by the insatiable appetite to taste all the fruit forbidden to him for the first Women is definitely not Bukowski at his finest, nevertheless, the book has its merits. In this book, we get a slightly different glimpse at Henry Chinaski, Bukowski's alter ego, and once we get past the same scenery in which the only thing that changes are the sets of legs spread before him, we are offered a look into a life of a man who is nearing his top game (in term of recognition) while being torn inside. Torn by the insatiable appetite to taste all the fruit forbidden to him for the first fifty years of his life, torn by the superficial attempts to fill a void, torn by his inability to attach, to be satisfied. We get the same gut-level honesty, the same raw emotions and descriptions Bukowski does so well; the same seedy neighborhoods and their protagonists; the same booze-fueled nights and sleepy days that pass in a haze. But we also get more. We get a vulnerable human being that on one hand desires to be good while on the other hand acts like a jerk. Can he help himself? Perhaps, yet he has no desire to. Some reviewers mention redemption at the end of the book. I did not see it that way. Hank became softer, yes, he did. But entering a relationship that would clearly not work in the long run is certainly not redemption. I view it more like a momentary break, a pause on his path towards self-destruction that marred Bukowski's real life.
For the most part, this book deals with sexual encounters of a random order, some lasting, some not. But are the short-lived ones an attempt to "crawl back to the womb", an attempt to find comfort and affection not allowed to him for the past five decades? Are the lasting encounters an attempt to find a woman crazier than he is, a woman more self-destructive than he is? Are those an attempt to reassure himself that there is nothing wrong with his own ways?
I loved Bukowski's own revelations and reflections in Hollywood. There was more to it than the book suggested. In Women, there is also more, but he has not yet reached a state of self-discovery, of self-observation. He is a kid in the candy store, except he is not a kid and the candy are the various women sleeping with him due to his recently acquired rock-star status. Does he suffer inside? Sure, but he does not see it that way, not yet. He, nevertheless, feels a void, he just didn't name it yet, and all the candy he get is not going to fill it.
To me, Women is a story of a man at the threshold of discovering himself. His path and method are rugged, his encounters utterly meaningless, but with each new woman that spends a night in his old, crappy bed, he inches closer to finding the lack of meaning in it all, closer to feeling something. And for this, Women makes for a good human story. It's not Factotum, Post Office, or Pulp...it's Bukowski in a relative material comfort, struggling to pull himself out of an emotional abyss.
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This was my first Bukowski and I don't believe it will be the last. It's good to take a peek at his writing when you get too serious in your head and your brain begins to get hot, it's good to take a glance at his writing to cool it down and get into the life of an ugly old son of a bitch who is, as he describes himself: "I'm just an alcoholic who became a writer so that I would be able to stay in bed until noon", a writer who "write[s] a lot of crap." But if you ask me I'd say he writes interes This was my first Bukowski and I don't believe it will be the last. It's good to take a peek at his writing when you get too serious in your head and your brain begins to get hot, it's good to take a glance at his writing to cool it down and get into the life of an ugly old son of a bitch who is, as he describes himself: "I'm just an alcoholic who became a writer so that I would be able to stay in bed until noon", a writer who "write[s] a lot of crap." But if you ask me I'd say he writes interesting kinds of crap the ones that are not so disgustingly smelly and the way they are crapped are fun to look at. Yeah you got me.

Bukowski's writing somehow reminds me of Confessional Poets, or as M. L. Rosenthal also named them as "the madhouse muses" which very much suits Bukowski, who shares some of their qualities. The emotions he shows are true to his own feelings. His opinions on world surrounding him are derived from his personal convictions and not from the currency of literary fashion, which there are examples aplenty in this book on his distaste for literary fashion or educated kind of writers and their writings.

There isn't any barrier between Bukowski's self and direct expression of the self, to write with "self" as primary subject; a frank Self, the one with a lack of restraint. But the thing that differentiates Bukowski from confessionals is that he talks through a personae (Henry Chanski) to convey his feelings, thoughts, worldviews, and experiences. But somehow all of us know there is much of Bukowski in that Chinaski guy that we are allowed to see them as one. Like confessionals, Bukowski mythologizes his personal life, but let's not forget that it also has elements of fancy. The facts displayed in his/their writings should not be taken for literal truth. But I'd say he is one lucky bastard if he's telling the truth!

He isn't afraid of emotions like the writers before him and he doesn't censor his emotions and thoughts or even he doesn't soften it with euphemism. At least he's true to himself, He doesn't put a mask on his face, and accepts himself as pure shit and presents himself as an old man with roaring shit. But of course his writing is not for everyone and he didn't expect everyone to like what he was doing to literature.

Just as there were no restrictions for confessionals on choosing a subject matter, Bukowski weren't tied up with restrictions either. He wrote about anything he liked and his subject matters were most often himself and the things he intimately knew.

His writings (at least in case of Women) are a declaration of loss, of dependence, of guilt, of anguish, suffering, and his revenge on life. The themes of this declaration are presented in the form of mental breakdowns, personal failure, alienation, whoring, experiments with drugs, alcoholism, and so on. As Bukowski confesses why he was behaving all through his post-50-year-old life as someone debauched, as someone who is beating the hell out of life to give him back what he has lost all his 50 years of miserable life:

I had imagined myself special because I had come out of the factories at the age of 50 and become a poet. Hot shit. So I pissed on everybody just like those bosses and managers had pissed on me when I was helpless. It came to the same thing. I was a drunken spoiled rotten fucker with a very minor minor fame.

BTW, I found it interesting that some of the names in the novel weren't the real names (but mostly they were). So some pseudonyms in Women:

Lydia Vance: Linda King - one of Buk's longtime relationships

(Here's the link on Bukowski and Linda king, the mad Lydia! http://www.vice.com/read/meeting-buko...)

Sara: Linda Bukowski
(Here's the youtube link when he gets pissed off at Linda (Sarah in Women: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pUeGs...)
Drop On Inn: Dew Drop Inn
Drayer Baba: Maher Baba - indian guru
Dinky Summers: Bob Linde - singer/guitarist friend of Buk's
Dee Dee Bronson: Liza Williams - executive at Island Records - lover of Buk's
Tammie: Pamela Miller ("Cupcakes") - lover of Buk's
Arlene: Georgia Peckham-Krellner - friend of Pamelas
Sammy Levinson: Neeli Cherkowski - friend of Buk's
Tanya: Amber O'Neill (also a pseudonym!) - fan/lover of Buk's
Mercedes: Joanna Bull - fan of Buk's
William Keesing: William Wantling - poet & friend of Buk's
Cecilia Keesing: Ruth Wantling - wife of William
Bobby & Valerie: Brad & Tina Darby - friends & neighbours of Buk's
Douglas Fazzick: Douglas Blazek - editor of "Ole" & publisher of Buk
Bart McIntosh: Ted Laturnus - organizer of Buk's reading in Vancouver 1976

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May 23, 2013 Michael rated it it was amazing

Repulsive.

There it is, my one word review of Women.

As I'm reading the book, hating it more and more, I'm wondering how I can ever review it. I'm not too fond of reviewing books anyway, but I didn't know how I could even share my thoughts on it. I decided I'd just do an alphabetical 26-word review, starting with "atrocious" and ending with "zany" with each word a representation of what I hated about the book.

Way too much work.

So why didn't I like Women? I was turned off by what I perceived as Buk

Repulsive.

There it is, my one word review of Women.

Way too much work.

So why didn't I like Women? I was turned off by what I perceived as Bukowski's misogyny and his lack of humanity. I didn't enjoy that the story read like a broken record, I was unhappy with the bleakness of love, I was bored listening to a loudmouthed drunk telling me exaggerated stories of his past and his love life.

So why do I rate a book I disliked so highly? Because when I finished I realized that no one, at least no one I know, writes with this much truth and this much passion and this much honesty. No one I know has the guts to rip himself open and throw himself on the table for pedantic lubbers like me to criticize.

And I also realized that Charles Bukowski is the only writer I've ever read who can make me laugh out loud. Sometimes not for the right reason.

Women is raw and offensive and insulting and repulsive but it's thoroughly honest, disturbingly brutal and undeniably real.

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Sep 11, 2015 Steven Godin rated it really liked it

I have never laughed so much in all my life over a book more than this!, it's hilarious, farcical, damn right rude, and just SO readable!. Thank you Hank, you bought a joyful tear to a man's eye! I have never laughed so much in all my life over a book more than this!, it's hilarious, farcical, damn right rude, and just SO readable!. Thank you Hank, you bought a joyful tear to a man's eye! ...more

"Low life writer and alcoholic Henry Chinaski was born to survive. Now, at the age of fifty, he is living the life of a rock star, running three hundred hangovers a year and a sex life that would cripple Casanova. "Women" is a riotous and uncompromisingly vivid account of life on the edge." - New Yorker

What a redundant and glamorous way to describe Bukowski's protagonist/alter ego, Henry Chinaski...
"Women" spins around Henry's later sexual life (in his 50's). Now as a minor famous writer, Henry

What a redundant and glamorous way to describe Bukowski's protagonist/alter ego, Henry Chinaski...
"Women" spins around Henry's later sexual life (in his 50's). Now as a minor famous writer, Henry can be described as a proud alcoholic, vulgar, savagely honest, sincere, misanthrope and highly sarcastic with a dry perspective of his surroundings. Bukowski's alter ego is fond of classical music (mainly German composers and some Russian ones). He's keen of racetracks and boxing matches and makes reading sessions around the country in order to survive (makes enough money to buy cigarettes, booze and to pay the rent and hates these reading sessions). Depicted as the classic low-life writer taken from a noir thriller movie, our fellow protagonist writes during the night while drinking piles of booze and wakes at noon (usually with a hangover). As a result of his misanthropy view, people consume him in a deep emotional level, due to this reason, Henry dwells in temporary relationships with several women. Hank (Chinaski's nickname) craves for women and the best way to get to know them is by having affairs with them; His method to understand them deeply is mainly motivated by his sexual drive.
In this story, Chinaski's women are of different traits: Vulgarity, Classy, Manipulative, Free Spirit, Impulsive, Psychotic, Repulsive and so on, are traits spread among the fifteen women (even more) in this sexy tale. When alcohol doesn't become an obstacle in Hank's sexual pleasures, he manages to tell all the details of his sex adventures.

"I was drawn to all the wrong things: I liked to drink, I was lazy, I didn't have a god, politics, ideas, ideals. I was settled into nothingness; a kind of non-being, and I accepted it. I didn't make for an interesting person. I didn't want to be interesting, it was too hard. What I really wanted was only a soft, hazy space to live in, and to be left alone. On the other hand, when I got drunk I screamed, went crazy, got all out of hand. One kind of behavior didn't fit the other. I didn't care."

"If I had been born a woman I would certainly have been a prostitute. Since I had been born a man, I craved women constantly, the lower the better. And yet women - good women - frightened me because they eventually wanted your soul, and what was left of mine, I wanted to keep. Basically, I craved prostitutes, base women, because they were deadly and hard and made no personal demands. Nothing was lost when they left. Yet at the same time, I yearned for a gentle, good woman, despite the overwhelming price. Either way, I was lost. A strong man would give up both. I wasn't strong. So I continued to struggle with women, with the idea of women."

"That's the problem with drinking, I thought, as I poured myself a drink. If something bad happens you drink in an attempt to forget; if something good happens you drink in order to celebrate; and if nothing happens you drink to make something happen."

The protagonist is aware and accepts his living condition. He's aware of his vulgarity, alcoholic problems, and his misanthropic nature. As a result of Henry's life experience, he manages to write what he thinks and feels in a brutally honest way. That's what drives so many people to enjoy his poems. Despite Henry's personality, his thoughts are full of sincerity, truthfulness, and passion.
Most of those women in Henry's life were as low as Chinaski, but all of them had something in common: Driven by his writing, they were all attracted to him in an unconscious way. Attraction is not a choice! There are actions driven by our unconscious that we can't control. That's precisely what those women were doing. They were aware of Chinaski's life views but most of them didn't want to leave him. Chinaski was indeed vulgar, obscene and at times repulsive (physically and psychologically) but he was different from the average men, he had sparkling, passion, experience, dry humor and (obviously) had the status of a writer. Those traits were enough to draw most women. It's all Psychology and Biological traits represented in a raw and daring format, fellas!

Bukowski's writing style is simple, raw, bleak, straight to the point, yet quite illustrative when it really matters. The story's pattern is pretty much the same, although the author successfully manages to make the narrative interesting with his individual tales about several women.

Bukowski's Women is daring, thought-provoking, rebel, insurgent, obscene and slightly vulgar, but it's a different vulgarity... It's an experienced vulgarity about acceptance and carnal pleasures. This novel is not a love song or a typical romantic story, but it's for sure a punk rock song about Human relations.

Rating: 4.8/5 stars

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Mar 29, 2017 Olivera rated it did not like it

Well, this is one of the instances where I'm not sure how I should start my review. It's not because I don't have anything to say, because trust me, I have sooo many opinions, I just have no idea where my rant should begin.

First of all, how the fuck is Bukowski this popular? Please someone explain this to me, because I can't wrap my mind around the fact that people actually love and worship him as an author. And how did he not have like a thousand children and didn't die of liver cirosis or STD

Now that I got this out of the way, I can actually focus on the rest.

So, Henry Chinaski...wow, just wow. Shittiest excuse for a man I've ever seen. There are two things that make his character even worse than he is:
1. he is based on the author
2. he is aware of his flaws and what he's doing wrong, yet he just accepts it like he can't influence it

I wanted to yell 'OTHER PEOPLE HAVE A HARD LIFE TOO' into his face like all the freakin' time.

He is so unlikable, he's so vulgar and rude and acts like he's the only goddamn creature in this world that's worth anything. He doesn't have one single human interaction with anyone and is so misogynystic that it hurt. Speaking as a woman, I was offended by this on every possible level. My guesses are that you can only enjoy this if you are a really oblivious person (and probably a male).
*not trying to be offensive here, just giving my opinion*

The plot didn't exist. It was a repetitive cycle of drinking, having sex and going to horse races, with the occasional poetry reading here and there.

There was a scene right at the beginning where Lydia tells him that he doesn't understand women, and this is pretty much the summary of this book. He doesn't understand them, yet he likes to pretend like he does and like he is dominant over them in every way. He sees them as a sum of their body parts and gets rid of them as soon as they serve their purpose. This book would have gotten 2 stars had there not been several occasions on which he rapes some of the girls. This was definitely it for me.

Somewhere near the end he has an encounter with a petit woman and he says something along the lines of 'it will be like raping a child' while thinking about the possible intercourse with her.
How on earth can you like a character who says stuff like this?

We get some 300 pages of text, all focusing on someone who lives an emtpy life. There is no moral to this, no story, no profound reveal at the end. We just witness someone not knowing how to properly live and make something that's actually pleasant. It's a bunch of self pitty mixed with extremely bad decisions.

Chinaski (and persumably Bukowski) was a swine with no respect towards anything, and I truly believe he shouldn't be half as popular as he is.

I will end this now, because I don't want to get even more angry.

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Jul 20, 2014 Jason rated it it was amazing

How do I rate a book on here with 6 stars?

When I was a teenager this book was the first dirty novel I read and it was the point I became obsessed with Bukowski. Now reading this many years later I still love this book, it still feels really dirty too. Bukowski is the ultimate rock-star of the poetry world and this book is the proof.

Bukowski will shag any woman who is up for it, he'll treat them mean and in some cases drive them insane, he makes mistakes and doesn't learn from them cos he doesn't

How do I rate a book on here with 6 stars?

Bukowski will shag any woman who is up for it, he'll treat them mean and in some cases drive them insane, he makes mistakes and doesn't learn from them cos he doesn't care, he is making up for lost time. He writes in his typical honest style having no shame he tells you all the gross details.

A lot of things/people annoy him and those things tend to annoy me too, one of the best lines in the book is about one of those annoyances, here it is...

"I had just been wished a "Happy New Year" by a local idiot news broadcaster on t.v. I disliked being wished a "Happy New Year" by some stranger. How did he know who I was? I might be a man with a 5-year-old child wired to the ceiling and gagged, hanging by her ankles as I slowly sliced her to pieces."

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I know I am not the only one who has a love and hate relationship with Bukowski. Some said he was their hero. I can understand you, though. Partly because he was so relatable-in a sense that my (our) feelings and thoughts were articulated and was better put into words in his writings. In my age, I have no idea what I'm doing and Bukowski made me feel that it is okay to feel so. To hate my job. To hate my past lovers. To feel lazy. To feel lonely. To feel unsatisfied. To feel degraded just becaus I know I am not the only one who has a love and hate relationship with Bukowski. Some said he was their hero. I can understand you, though. Partly because he was so relatable-in a sense that my (our) feelings and thoughts were articulated and was better put into words in his writings. In my age, I have no idea what I'm doing and Bukowski made me feel that it is okay to feel so. To hate my job. To hate my past lovers. To feel lazy. To feel lonely. To feel unsatisfied. To feel degraded just because we thought we deserve better-although we will never talk about it to any one because that's how egotistical we are. Bukowski is so real. So real that I feel so close to him. I always refer to him as my scumbag Dad. :)

There are parts in this book which some would find gross, that women are objectify-which I know is the sign to hate him. But he was not trying to objectify, he was just a man. Just as some women would treat their male partners in the same manner that he does. But the sad fact is that, when a woman writes a sexual encounter, or the men she has had sex with, and how did they do it, she will just be assumed as slut.

This book reminds me so much of what the world lacks-a woman who can write like Bukowski. So brave and so real and so on-point.

If you know one, let me know.

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I enjoyed this novel. Though it's thick, I found it an easy read, the type of book that I could dip into at any time. The structure of this novel is odd or unconventional in that at first it seems repetitive, this happens then that, with women entering and leaving his life. But somehow you grow used to it. It's almost like a compilation of episodes that often don't lead anywhere but allow you to understand the protagonist who's obviously Bukowski. I'll say it's pretty funny too. Bukowski's sense I enjoyed this novel. Though it's thick, I found it an easy read, the type of book that I could dip into at any time. The structure of this novel is odd or unconventional in that at first it seems repetitive, this happens then that, with women entering and leaving his life. But somehow you grow used to it. It's almost like a compilation of episodes that often don't lead anywhere but allow you to understand the protagonist who's obviously Bukowski. I'll say it's pretty funny too. Bukowski's sense of humor is blunt and often dirty, which I kind of appreciate. In a way I was reminded me of another recent novel I read, Permanent Obscurity by Richard Perez. Both books have a raw and ugly style, both quite funny. Bukowski's Women ends with Henry, the main character losing control a little. The portrait is deadly honest, and I know a lot of people who might consider him an A-hole, but that's exactly why he's interesting: you don't often see his kind in fiction. Bukowski does nothing to cover up the fact that he's a bit of a monster. So the end result is a realistic portrait. Anyway, I enjoyed this book, and I would recommend it to others. ...more

I really didn't know how to take this book and I'm not sure that I have it figured out yet. I knew little about Bukowski going into this one but it didn't take very long to figure out that the antihero Hank Chinaski is actually the alter ego of Bukowski. Both aging writers, German birth, -ski surname, etc, etc. The story seemed pointless at first, very sexual in nature; grittily,needlessly specific sexual content that couldn't even claim to be erotic in nature. Chinaski has carnal relations with I really didn't know how to take this book and I'm not sure that I have it figured out yet. I knew little about Bukowski going into this one but it didn't take very long to figure out that the antihero Hank Chinaski is actually the alter ego of Bukowski. Both aging writers, German birth, -ski surname, etc, etc. The story seemed pointless at first, very sexual in nature; grittily,needlessly specific sexual content that couldn't even claim to be erotic in nature. Chinaski has carnal relations with so many different women that he can't remember their names. Unfortunately, the reader is just as confused.

So I kept asking myself: what is the actual point here? The female characters who climb into bed with Chinaski don't get fleshed out; they form a long line of (usually) willing bed partners for Chinaski who regards them as little more than sperm receptacles. Does this story mirror Bukowski's actual sex life? Do women actually have so little self-respect as to allow themselves to be used in this manner by a coarse and brash man who obviously has no respect for them, possibly even hates them? I was starting to hate both Bukowski/Chinaski and the women who slept with him!

But in the last half of the book, Bukowski starts to put everything together. Chinaski undergoes a period of self-analysis in which he questions why he is such a philandering prick and speculates on the origins of his need to be embraced by the female half of humanity. He even takes baby steps at improvement, giving the reader hope that, against the odds, he may eventually settle into a mutually fulfilling relationship with someone.

In the end, I realize that although the book may have engaged me in a negative way, it still engaged me. Make me happy or rattle my cage, but don't bore me! This one kept me reading: moreover, I will read more Bukowski in the future.

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I got this from a friend and read it at an age when guess I could have liked it - I didn't (like it that is, that's what a GoodReads one star is - Didn't like it). Everything that positive reviews list as reasons to like this book are the same ones that makes it utterly uninteresting to me. Never got it, had it been today there's no way I would have finished this. But I learned from the experience and won't ever pick up anything else by him. I got this from a friend and read it at an age when guess I could have liked it - I didn't (like it that is, that's what a GoodReads one star is - Didn't like it). Everything that positive reviews list as reasons to like this book are the same ones that makes it utterly uninteresting to me. Never got it, had it been today there's no way I would have finished this. But I learned from the experience and won't ever pick up anything else by him. ...more

Henry Charles Bukowski (born as Heinrich Karl Bukowski) was a German-born American poet, novelist and short story writer. His writing was influenced by the social, cultural and economic ambience of his home city of Los Angeles.It is marked by an emphasis on the ordinary lives of poor Americans, the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women and the drudgery of work. Bukowski wrote thousands Henry Charles Bukowski (born as Heinrich Karl Bukowski) was a German-born American poet, novelist and short story writer. His writing was influenced by the social, cultural and economic ambience of his home city of Los Angeles.It is marked by an emphasis on the ordinary lives of poor Americans, the act of writing, alcohol, relationships with women and the drudgery of work. Bukowski wrote thousands of poems, hundreds of short stories and six novels, eventually publishing over sixty books

Charles Bukowski was the only child of an American soldier and a German mother. At the age of three, he came with his family to the United States and grew up in Los Angeles. He attended Los Angeles City College from 1939 to 1941, then left school and moved to New York City to become a writer. His lack of publishing success at this time caused him to give up writing in 1946 and spurred a ten-year stint of heavy drinking. After he developed a bleeding ulcer, he decided to take up writing again. He worked a wide range of jobs to support his writing, including dishwasher, truck driver and loader, mail carrier, guard, gas station attendant, stock boy, warehouse worker, shipping clerk, post office clerk, parking lot attendant, Red Cross orderly, and elevator operator. He also worked in a dog biscuit factory, a slaughterhouse, a cake and cookie factory, and he hung posters in New York City subways.

Bukowski published his first story when he was twenty-four and began writing poetry at the age of thirty-five. His first book of poetry was published in 1959; he went on to publish more than forty-five books of poetry and prose, including Pulp (1994), Screams from the Balcony (1993), and The Last Night of the Earth Poems (1992).

He died of leukemia in San Pedro on March 9, 1994.

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Charles Bukowski What It Takes to Be a Writer

Source: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/38500.Women

Charles Bukowski What It Takes to Be a Writer

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